I paid for my first haircut over winter break. It was an odd feeling. I cried a bit in the car on the way there–thankfully not in front of anyone else. Afterward, I was happy that I did get one. I did need it and my hair did indeed feel great after. But somehow, I still felt horrible.
My aunt used to cut my hair for me. She died over winter break.
Writing about this is difficult and I understand that it is certainly not fun to read, but I feel that it is important that we talk about death in an open way–to the best of our ability, at least. If one asked me to talk about my aunt in person, it would probably end in tears. I have lost family before, at a much younger, less mature age, but this one is hitting me especially hard.
Writing helps. It allows me to use the words that I want to speak aloud but cannot.
I remember our adventures together when I was younger.
My aunt would drive my grandma and I to places like the mall when I was “sick” and stayed home from school.
We started writing a book together about how crazy our family was, which was partly for fun, partly her trying to appease my 11-year-old self’s need to write. She encouraged me and my cousins in this way.
My aunt gave me an appreciation for music as she did for others in my family. She helped people attend their first concerts and made me fall in love with the many songs and bands of Jack White (who is amazing and someone who everyone should be listening to).
She gave me an obsession with The Real Housewives franchise and other reality TV–essentially anything that ever aired on Bravo.
My aunt gave my mom a book about sisters and included a Maya Angelou poem, “Phenomenal Woman,” at the front, sparking both my love for Angelou and teaching me a thing or two about what being a woman is all about.
She would also probably hate the fact that I’m writing nice, sappy things about her, as she flung off compliments and was not soft. Don’t get me wrong, she was always kind to me, but also never afraid to speak her mind about anything.
My aunt struggled with some things, as all humans do, but she fought and she came out stronger because of all her tribulations.
I understand that this is deeply personal and maybe too sappy, but I need to air out my feelings. I think anyone who has lost a loved one should be able to have some sort of outlet where they can air out their feelings. For my older brother it’s music, for my mom it’s talking and simply letting the emotions flow and for me, it’s writing.
I hope that other people have this sort of outlet–whether it’s through a hobby or seeing a therapist to help sort through complex emotions, it is so important that we don’t bottle our feelings up inside and try to squish out emotions. Our mental health matters and we should be taking care of ourselves, though it hurts to do so.
I know that this piece and the writing I do will not be enough to convey the love I felt for my aunt and the joy I experienced in her presence. It will never be enough, but it helps. My mom once told me that there is so much room in my heart for love. I can love people long after they’re gone, but, moreover, I can take the love I may not necessarily be able to show them and give it to others, to the things I am passionate about.
I can give pieces of my heart to my aunt, to strangers, to writing, to whatever and whoever I want or need to. My aunt loved this way, too. She loved endlessly. She may have been my hairdresser, but she was infinitely more than that.